


Five Times Greg and Mycroft Didn't Have to Say a Word, and One Time They Did

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Domestic, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. Covering from a Study in Pink to after Sherlock's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Greg and Mycroft Didn't Have to Say a Word, and One Time They Did

(1)

Most couples spoke to one another out loud. Pleasantries and “how was your day?” make up a large portion of domestic life. Greg and Mycroft weren’t most couples. For one, almost no one knew they were a couple at all. They filled in the spaces in one another’s lives, but those lives were very much separate.

So Greg watched Sherlock walk away with his new flatmate. Someone clearly willing to kill for him, not that the fact would make its way into the official report. Despite Sherlock’s feelings on the matter, Greg Lestrade was not a stupid man. As the pair walked away, Greg glanced back and saw Mycroft in the shadows, watching. He walked over and looked into his eyes, head cocked slightly. _Are you okay_ , he asked without speaking.

Mycroft nodded, his shift in body language telling Greg how much he trusted the personage of John Watson. No doubt he’d already memorized the man’s entire file.

A black car pulled up. Greg got the door, opening it for Mycroft. He paused halfway into the car and brushed Greg’s hand; an invitation. Smiling ruefully and shaking his head, he gestured back at the crime scene. _Paperwork_. Mycroft gave a tiny smile in return and settled into the car. Greg closed the door and watched him drive off.

(2)

Greg sat on his couch flipping through channels on the telly when there was a knock on the door. Only one person would be here so late. Still, he was cautious as he opened the door.

Mycroft looked miserable. Given what had happened to Sherlock and John at the pool earlier, that wasn’t surprising. He led Mycroft inside and settled him on the couch before going into the kitchen to fix them some tea.

When he returned, Mycroft had taken off his jacket and laid it over the arm of the couch, still sitting in his waistcoat. Greg put one cup in his hand and settled back onto the couch with the other, looping one arm around Mycroft’s chest, tugging him close. Slouching, Mycroft rested his head against Greg’s shoulder. Greg splayed his hand on Mycroft’s stomach, settling the TV on some mindless sports programme. After a few minutes Mycroft leaned forward to put his empty cup on the coffee table before settling against Greg again.

Greg felt Mycroft’s weight shift as he fell asleep. He smiled and turned the telly down, nodding off with Mycroft’s weight reassuring against his side.

(3)

Greg watched the black car pull up and got in without hesitation. He was dropped off at an alley. He knew the second door on the left was a back entrance to one of Mycroft’s offices. Taking the stairs two at a time, he opened the door to find Mycroft pacing.

He walked in and settled himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. Mycroft took a few more steps before stopping and leaning against his desk. This had to do with Miss Adler, no doubt. And Sherlock. Whatever happened it wasn’t good; he could read the bitter disappointment in the cold blue eyes watching him. He reached forward and put a hand on Mycroft’s knee.

Mycroft shook his head. Greg stood and carefully leaned in to give him a chaste kiss. Mycroft sighed and cupped Greg’s cheek, hand cold and lips warm and he deepened the kiss.

A knock on the door disturbed them. Mask quickly sliding into place, Mycroft gave him a look as he straightened his suit. Greg gave a short nod and slipped out the side door.

(4)

Greg looked down at the approved leave form and the ticket and shook his head. John and Sherlock were in the country; of course Mycroft wanted him to check up on them. Probably already up to their necks in trouble, too.

He pulled on his coat and went home to pack a few things. A car pulled up as he finished. Smiling softly he went down and got in. To his surprise, Mycroft himself was waiting in the back. He studied Greg with worry in his eyes. Greg took his hand and squeezed it, assuring him.

The ride to the train station was silent. Mycroft handed him an envelope and a key. He pocketed them and raised Mycroft’s hand to his lips. His lover relaxed, imperceptible to anyone but Greg, and settled against the seat.

They reached the station and Greg gave a nod as he got out of the car, wondering just what he’d find in Baskerville.

(5)

Still stunned and numb, Greg poured himself a drink with a shaking hand. Sherlock Holmes was dead. Part of him thought he should ring up John, but he couldn’t bring himself to reach for his mobile. Guilt burned in his heart. He’d been doing his job, but he would never believe Sherlock had been a fraud.

The flat door opened and Mycroft stepped inside. Greg silently poured another drink. Closing the door, Mycroft stepped to him and wrapped his arms around his waist. Greg leaned back against him, tears in his eyes. Mycroft kissed his cheek, just holding him.

This was selfish, he admonished himself. Mycroft had just lost his brother. But as Mycroft turned him and held him against his chest, he let go, starting to quietly cry against his shoulder. Mycroft simply held him, supporting him in his arms.

After a long while, Greg pulled away, wiping his face and reaching for the forgotten drink. He handed Mycroft the other one and met his eyes, finding them dry. Secrets lay in his eyes, under tight control. Sometime Greg would have to try and get him to face what happened. But not tonight. He raised his glass in silent toast, wondering about the future. Their future.

(+1)

Greg shuffled papers. Always paperwork when someone died, more so when they were suddenly not dead any more. He was still reeling from the shock of Sherlock Holmes in the flesh. John had punched him and Greg hardly blamed him. He might have done the same if he’d been surprised by a ghost.

The door opened and Mycroft stepped into his office. Greg rubbed his temple and stood. Mycroft looked as if years of stress had been lifted. They probably had. Grabbing his coat, Greg followed him out of the office and down to the car.

“You knew he was alive,” said Greg when they were alone, not accusing, just a statement of fact.

“To some extent, yes,” he answered honestly.

“I’m sure you both had good reasons.”

Mycroft looked at him a moment, then pulled him into a kiss. _More than I can say_ , he meant.

Greg sighed and leaned against him. “Stay with me tonight?” Mycroft met his eyes and nodded.

Some relationships were full of noise and speech. Some couples fought, some discussed. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. Greg and Mycroft had learned that sometimes _I love you_ could be said best with no words at all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
